“Do you have any more bullets?” she asked, voice trembling slightly. “I have seen pistols loaded before. I believe I can do it.”
He shook his head. “None for this night,” he answered and she frowned at his choice of words. He next handed her a blade, holding it handle first to her.
“Mr. Thistlewaite, I surely won’t be getting close enough to any animals to have a use for that.”
“Please, just take it. I’ve another.”
“You’re awfully well-armed for a simple trip through the woods,” Elinore said, attempting to make her voice light. She took the blade and managed to tuck it into one of the pockets. She’d likely end up accidentally cutting her leg with it.
“These woods are well known to me.”
His words made her stomach clench, but she could not afford to lose her resolve.
“Follow the path, don’t stray off it any. The manor is less than a mile from here.”
“I shall return with help,” she said firmly, nodding at him.
“God go with you, miss. God go with you.”
Gritting her teeth, she clutched the pistol in one hand and the lantern in the other and set off into the night.
Chapter Two
It was darker than she had expected. Darker and colder.
She had known, of course, it would be both. Elinore was fanciful, but she wasn’t foolish. It was the middle of the night, she was wet and there had been a storm. She was bound to be chilled and to find the forest gloomy, but she didn’t expect the darkness to have such depth, nor the cold to have such teeth. She thought with the full moon, she would have more than enough light to see by, but the passing storm clouds obscured the bright orb intermittently, leaving her one moment in sliver-bathed light and another completely in the dark.
Elinore held the lantern slightly in front of her, its small candle only able to cast a tiny globe of illumination - just enough at the moment to keep her on the path and from drifting into the wilder forest. She longed for the next break in the clouds, where the moon could shine down and she would not feel so alone in the world.
The trees rustled in the night air and she shivered at the sound. Her teeth chattered and she ground her jaw together, forcing them silent. Her cloak hung on her shoulders, wet and heavy. She wondered if she would be warmer without it, but dared not discard it. There was nothing to be done about the cold, she told herself. It was temporary. Thistle had been injured and she was the only chance he had for help. She could and would survive a little cold.
Elinore’s palm was sweaty on both the pistol and the lamp. If she had a scrap of dry fabric or a way to hold both in one hand while she dried the other, she would do it. As it was, she could only keep going.
Her heart thudded in her ears, her breath loud and raspy - she wasn’t a layabout and she quite often went for walks with her friends at school or about town, but it was another thing entirely to be trudging through the wet, mucky ground. Her boots sunk a little on every step and she had to drag her foot up and out with a slight sucking sound as she moved. Though she wasn’t as fast as she would have liked, she was steadily making progress.
When the clouds moved, the moon was sharp and bright in the sky - a pale disk that burned her eyes. The storm continued to blow on. The remaining clouds that passed over the moon either cast strange and unnatural shadows before her or left her in the dark.
She shrugged her shoulder, trying to dissuade the ache that had settled in. She’d poked a bit at the cut on her arm before setting off, assuring herself that it was fine, or rather, it was fine enough for the journey. It did not appear to be bleeding profusely and she could have it looked at as soon as Thistle was rescued and she was safe and warm. Oh, in that moment, how she longed for the small parlor of her parents’ house. On a night such as this one, she would be curled up with a book, creating stories in her head with which to regale Charlotte over tea the next day. As it was, Elinore could hardly make out the ground in front of her and she stumbled now and then, not having seen a small dip or a puddle of water.
She felt very small and very alone. Her fear started getting the better of her and she imagined the whole world to be as dark as it was around her in the forest, with only the small lantern she held warding off the eternal night. If a creature were to fly high above her, in the sky, it would only see blackness for miles, with her obscure, inconsequential lamp a blip on the ink stain of the earth.
A twig snapped in the woods and Elinore spun toward the sound, her ears straining to hear. The lamp swung in her hand, its glow rippling around the forest.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
Silence rested heavily around her and she felt childish. Of course there would be no one skulking about in the woods. This wasn’t a well-travelled path; there would be no sense in a highwayman lying in wait. Who did Elinore imagine would answer her? A fairy king? With a hesitating glance toward the thick trees, she started back on the path.
A wolf howl ululated through the night air and Elinore’s heart beat like a rabbit caught in the chase. It sounded close. She pressed onward, having no other choice than to continue.
Another crack from the forest and again the rustle of leaves had Elinore quickening her step. The lantern bobbed, its dim light jockeying across the pathway. The wolf sounded again, the howl closer this time, and she couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping her lips.
It was pacing her. From her right, in the forest. The wolf was pacing her.
It wasn’t her fanciful imagination. This wasn’t some remnant of ghastly tales she and Charlotte would share while tucked up in bed, their voices low so as not to be heard. Elinore could hear sounds in the forest, but they never got further away nor any closer. It was stalking her. If she kept her eyes forward, she could see the movement out of the corner of her eyes. She shivered, her teeth chattering. She kept moving.
Beside her, so did the wolf.
Elinore broke out into a run.
She could hear slavering behind her now, growling and the slip and slide of paws on mud and she ran even though she knew she was no match for a wolf. No match for a predator.
Her ankle twisted beneath her and the lantern went flying, Elinore pitching after it onto the ground, slipping through the mud with a shriek. The moon broke through the clouds again and she flipped onto her back, skittering away, her cloak tight across her throat as the fabric got caught beneath her. The wolf was there, moving closer. It loomed over her - its grey and white body large and hulking. Its eyes were yellow, seemingly lit from within - a demon wolf or some kind of sorcerer’s beast. It snarled and she flinched as it bared its teeth at her.
She froze as it crept closer, golden eyes intent on her, not blinking, as it moved. Her body tightened with fear and tension. The wolf sniffed the air and then licked its chops with a wet, slick sound. Thistle’s words echoed in her head. The pistol. She had a pistol. She wondered if the beast was yet close enough for her to hit. It took one more step forward and her frozen state broke.
Elinore raised the pistol and shot.
The wolf yelped - not a small cry of pain, but an outraged sound of anger and hurt. Red bloomed at its shoulder and Elinore had only a moment of triumph, thinking, ‘Yes, I did that. I shot the beast,’ before it lunged forward at her. It happened too quick for her to take another shot; she managed only to raise her arm in defense. Its teeth snapped around her forearm and she had a visage in her head of it being torn off. She shrieked again when it bit down, hearing the fabric of her dress tear and dear God, her skin as well, as it clamped its jaws on her arm. She batted out with her fist, hitting it in its wounded shoulder, her other hand scrabbling on the ground to try to pull herself away. Her hand hit something in the folds of her dress. The knife. She gripped the handle and pulled it out before plunging it as hard as she could into the side of the wolf. Her hand was slippery and wet, sliding down the handle as she thrust it into the wolf.
The wolf’s teeth closed even harder on her arm and she cried out. From withi
n the forest came a sound, a roar and something barreled out of the darkness, striking the wolf attacking her. Another wolf. The teeth sunk into her arm ripped away as the first wolf was rammed off her by the second, the two of them rolling in a mass of fur, teeth and snarling. They both flipped to their feet, more interested in each other now than her. They snapped and slavered - one with blood on its maw - her blood, Elinore realized. The other wolf stood between her and the one with the bloody muzzle, as if it was protecting her. She pushed herself backward, her movement drawing the attention of the bloody wolf, who made a move to dart toward her. The other wolf, the more white of the two, growled, pulling its lips back from its teeth. It lunged again for the first wolf and they tumbled into the forest like grey and white puffs of smoke, disappearing into the underbrush. She heard rustling, snarling, and then…. Silence.
Elinore was left lying on the ground, shaking with fear and shock. The pistol was still in her hand and she stared at it dumbly. She raised her injured arm, seeing torn fabric and blood. There was pain, but it was bearable. She was not dead; she couldn’t be while she still felt pain, she told herself. Elinore rolled onto her side and carefully pushed herself to her feet, crying at the pain in her arm. Her breath hitched and stuttered as she stood and she feared if she didn’t keep moving, she’d fall back to the ground and cry until daylight.
Or until the wolves came back.
She turned and hit something, shrieking as she staggered back.
A man stood before her - framed by the darkness of the forest and painted by sliver moonlight on his face. His dark eyebrows gathered in a frown, his sharp features looking dire and grim.
“What are you doing out here?”
His voice was low and deep, more akin to the growl of the wolves she’d just seen than a man.
She gaped, unable to speak for a moment, trying to swallow past her dry throat. He took a menacing step forward and she moved back. “I’m… I’m Elinore Reed, on my way to Ravenwood. We had an accident and the driver needs assistance. He’s trapped and quite injured.” She was heartily amazed she managed to get all the words out in one breath, her chest heaving slightly.
“You are by yourself? In the forest?” He seemed incredulous, taking another step forward and she flinched. It occurred to her suddenly that she was still very much alone, possibly far away from Ravenwood and safety, and she had no idea who this man was. His expression was fierce, his jaw cut like granite and covered in stubble. His clothes were in disarray - messily assembled, and she had the laughable thought that he appeared hardly reputable. Another step brought him closer still and it seemed as though, with the light of the moonlight, his eyes flashed yellow. Unthinking, she raised the pistol. It warbled slightly in her hand.
He stilled, eyes narrowing at her. “The gun is empty,” he said lowly, taking a step closer.
Elinore cocked the pistol’s hammer. “No, it’s not.” She knew she still had one bullet left. She may be frightened, cold and injured, but she wasn’t hysterical or infirm. She’d only shot once and Thistle said the gun had two shots.
The man held up his hands and took a step backward. “I apologize.” When she didn’t lower the pistol, he continued. “I’m Caleb Vollmond, from Ravenwood.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His eyebrows raised and he looked at her disbelievingly. He huffed slightly. “My uncle is Hayter Vollmond. I believe he is your uncle as well?” He looked at her as though waiting for confirmation. She said nothing. “You must be the niece of his late wife. The manor has been expecting you.”
Elinore eyed him somewhat suspiciously as she lowered the gun. Knowing those details, it seemed likely he was from the manor. The hand holding the gun trembled as she shivered in the cold.
Caleb took a step toward her again and she darted backward, holding the pistol up once more. He held his hands up in front of him. “I mean only to take off my cloak and give it to you.”
He reached up and pulled his cloak off, holding it out toward her. She would have to lower the pistol, and possibly put it down to take his cloak and put it on over her own. She was cold. Dreadfully so. Wet, cold and her arm throbbed. She lowered her arm slightly and then heard howling from the forest again - a resonating wolf call that raised gooseflesh on her arms. Caleb took the moment of her distraction to come forward, and sweep the cloak over her shoulders. She shuddered into the warmth of the garment and only then finally lowered the pistol.
Caleb stared into the foliage of the forest, his body tense and still next to her. “We must go,” he said, jaw tight. His nose twitched slightly and then he looked down at her. “You’ve blood on your hands.”
Elinore looked down and saw he was correct - her hands stained red from the wolf. “It’s not mine.”
A rustle in the woods caused her to jerk. Caleb moved closer to her and pulled the pistol from her cold fingers. She startled, wanting to snatch it back. She’d felt safer with the weight of it in her hands. He eyed the barrel intently and then, inexplicably, sniffed the pistol, making a gruff affirmative sound.
“Where did you get this?”
“Mr. Thistlewaite gave it to me. He’s very badly injured and trapped under the carriage. I could not free him.”
Caleb took her hand, his fingers warm around hers, attempting to pull her after him, away from where she came.
“I’ll take you to the manor and come back for him.”
Elinore pulled against him. “Wait, Thistle is badly hurt. Can’t you… Maybe we could…” she paused not knowing what to say. It was likely that more than one man was needed to free Thistlewaite and perhaps Caleb’s plan of going to the manor was sound. He could fetch more men and return. At the same time, she loathed the idea of leaving Thistlewaite alone in the forest, injured and bleeding, for any longer than necessary. Especially now knowing of the wolves out in the woods. She wanted to go back to him. “How far is it? To the manor?”
He pursed his lips in displeasure and through his stubble, she could see the muscles of his jaw working. “Not far.” He whistled and out of the woods came an answering neigh. A horse trotted from the trees, black and sleek. He motioned her closer, as though to give her a boost onto the animal.
She held her ground and squared her shoulders. “I will go back and stay with him. With Mr. Thistlewaite,” Elinore said, trying to keep her voice from wavering, not daring to think of the animals she’d seen, of their sharp teeth and savage eyes. “I shall wait with him while you return to the manor and gather some men.”
“I didn’t come from the manor.”
Elinore frowned. “Are you not out here looking for us because we are overdue?”
“No.”
“What are you doing out here?”
His jaw ticked again. “Hunting.”
His word sent a shiver down Elinore’s spine. “How did you find me?”
“The gunfire. It will likely draw the others.”
“Then I shouldn’t have to wait long with Thistle for further help to arrive. I will return to wait with him.” She thought she did quite well at keeping her fear from warbling her words. She had no desire to go back into the woods alone, but she also wasn’t about to leave Thistle. She wouldn’t leave anyone for longer than necessary in his state.
“You mean to walk alone, through the woods, at night.” Caleb’s tone certainly told her what he thought of the idea and she prepared herself for an argument.
“I’ve done it already.”
“And you are one bullet down for it,” he said, raising the pistol in front of her eyes. “What did you shoot at? Shadows?”
Elinore eyes darted back toward the forest. “No, I… it was a wolf.” A demon wolf, she wanted to add, but knew what men thought of ladies and such ideas. He’d likely roll his eyes at her and pat her on the head.
Caleb stepped forward quickly, startling her and sending her back a few paces. “You saw it? Did you hit it? What color was it?”
“I don’t know. Grey. White. Grey and white,” sh
e stammered. “I shot it and it attacked me. Then there was another one and they fought. They ran away.” Even to her own ears, she sounded frightened and confused. The entire incident was becoming a blur in her mind. Her arm burned furiously and she could feel each puncture from the wolf’s teeth.
“It attacked you? Did it bite you?” Caleb’s voice was fierce, his eyes wide.
She nodded. “Y-yes.”
He looked her up and down. “Where? Show me.”
She clutched the cloaks she was wearing. “I beg your pardon?”
“Show me the bite.”
Elinore moved backward, coming into contact with the sleek black horse. He was a warm weight against her spine - solid and sure. He nosed her a bit - soft, warm air whiffing across her face. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he turned slightly away again, waiting for a command from his master. Her hands shook as she raised her arm, the cloaks falling away to reveal the bite. In the moonlight she could see the ruined mess of her dress - bloody and torn. Her arm, which had been painful before she saw it, screamed in sharper agony now that she’d laid eyes on her wounds. Caleb reached out and took her arm, his grip solid against her flesh. She bit back a cry of pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said lowly, though he still turned her arm in his firm grip. He cursed, examining the wound, his lips going tight. He looked back up at her face, his eyes meeting hers. His irises were cold and harsh - a pale shade akin to the moonlight.
“You should not have been traveling tonight.”
“I hardly had a choice in the matter,” Elinore answered tightly, bristling at his accusatory tone.
Caleb pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, flapped it open and wrapped it around Elinore’s arm. She hissed when he tightened it, tying the ends together.
“You should not stay out here any longer. I must you get you back to the manor.” Caleb caught the bridle of the horse, moving the creature closer to them. He turned to Elinore. “I’ll take you there and then see to Thistlewaite.”
Ravenwood Page 3
